No One Else To Turn To
by devilsalt
Summary: Post-Legacy. Carver still doesn't feel like he fits in, and is more frustrated with recent revelations concerning his father. Fellow warden, Myrah Surana, helps the new warden to vent some of that frustration, as well as get to the bottom of this Merrill she keeps hearing about. A k!meme fill.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first kink meme response, which I've had a ton of fun doing while I'm still working on the epilogue for my other story. This is a two-shot, so the next part will be up soon. Takes place post-Legacy. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think :)**

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Two nights into their voyage and the Grey Wardens' had sailed into a electric summer storm, alive with brilliant blinding lightning and black thunderheads. With high winds and seas, Carver sought shelter below deck with the others, where it was both warm and dry, although the constant rocking to and fro did little to help with keeping their footing, or their dinners.

Their assignment into Kirkwall had drawn to a close, and for most, returning to Amaranthine was eagerly welcomed. However, for Carver, it was rather bittersweet. Returning to the Free Marches had coincidentally reunited him with his older brother, an almost pleasant part awkward exchange between the Hawkes who were both caught up in their own burdens. Although he did take pleasure in the fact that he was sworn to secrecy and his brother could not know the details of his mission. Carver remembered that moment of pride he felt then, finally getting the upper hand against Garrett.

But then his brother asked for his help, and Carver hadn't been quite right since.

Since taking ship, the deputy Warden had stowed away in his cabin to avoid being bothered. He hadn't eaten in a couple days and sleep was near impossible with Carver's mind consumed in deep thought. He didn't think learning more about their father would bother him this much, but it did, and continued to be a torment throughout the rest of his stay in Kirkwall.

"Knock, knock."

Carver had been stretched back on his bunk, just long enough to accumulate his height and broad enough to lay on his back. Armor off and tucked away, he'd been lounging around in his cobalt Warden robes since the first night. He sat-up quickly at the voice, blood rushing to his temples. Just how long had he been laying there? The sudden motion made him queasy.

"Myrah!" he answered in surprise, still seeing double of her in the doorway.

Fellow Warden and previously a mage of the Circle Tower, Myrah had been recruited under dire circumstances that would otherwise have had her made tranquil. She survived the betrayal at Osagar and lived to fight through the Blight, eventually helping the Commander to rebuild the wardens. Besides the always shem-hating Velanna, Myrah was also one of the few elves in the Wardens.

"Carver," she exclaimed back, almost mockingly, but always with a bright smile. "Are you going to join us for dinner tonight?"

The young Hawke scooted to the edge of the bunk, boots hitting the wooden floor with a thud, although with the pounding rain you could barely hear a thing. Shouting and merriment could be heard faintly from beyond the cabins, to where Nathaniel and the others conversed in the galley. Carver gave the doorway one long sulking glance before staring at his feet, shaking his head, but just barely.

Myrah stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind her, muting the distant conversations. "You haven't been eating," she observed, padding barefooted towards the bed. Carver hardly felt the mattress sink as the elf tucked herself beside him, turning so that their knees touched and Myrah was watching him, "You haven't been sleeping either."

Carver blushed feverishly as the mage bullied him to face her, warm hands on either side of his face, squeezing his cheeks so he was making a very awkward kissy-face. Her slender fingers grew warmer still and eyes brighter as she concentrated on him. He began to feel it then, the tingle of her magic spilling over him, crawling through his skin. Myrah did this regularly to her companions, tongue sticking out in concentration as she tried to neutralize any illness or heal any wounds her magic touched. When she was done, the elf's hands sunk into her lap and a worried frown graced her features.

For a moment, Carver noticed how cute her quirks were.

"I know it's none of my business, but if this is about seeing your brother-" Myrah trailed off, unsure how to tread the topic of Garrett Hawke with her companion. She nervously played with her hair, tucking it behind her ear as she glanced back at Carver.

He was staring at the stains on his boots. It wasn't about his brother, for once, but he had never mentioned his father before. Never had a reason to be upset with him. Carver had only ever placed his father on a pedestal. Was he really going to let something that wasn't even his father's fault cause so much turmoil?

"It's not my brother," Carver finally breathed and turned to Myrah, whose wide eyes watched worriedly, "I found out my father was forced to use blood magic...by Grey Wardens." He stood and shadowed over her, carefully treading the small cabin back and fourth. "I'm a Grey Warden Myrah!" Carver shouted, sounding rather guilty suddenly.

"Carver," she plead with him, watching as the Warden frantically paced, floorboards creaking with each step. Myrah sighed and sprung to her feet, "Carver!" The Warden stopped in his tracks at her tugging, stiffening as she held him still by his sleeve. Standing on her toes, Myrah touched Carver's cheek and smiled, a crooked smile that he stared at longer than usual. "You are a Grey Warden now, but you will never be so tainted to think forcing a mage to blood magic is the right way- the Commander would never stand for that. So don't make it worse by thinking you've made the wrong decision Carver," she rubbed the scruff on his chin with her thumb, "Those who did that to your father, they're not Wardens, they do not stand for what we are."

"I wasn't chosen to become a Warden," Carver argued, "it was just a convenient way to cheat death."

Myrah shook her head and whispered, "You're wrong." Her smile brightened, "The Commander may not have chosen you Ser Carver, but fate did, and one day you will prove to yourself that you are worthy of being a Grey Warden." Carver could feel his face warming again, his sudden tantrum an embarrassment. "Besides," Myrah smirked as she flicked her finger underneath his chin, "I can't imagine the Grey Wardens without such a handsome gentleman."

Carver found himself leaning towards her for a not so chivalrous gesture just as the ship rocked violently, hurling him into the door and Myrah into him. Subconsciously, the Warden had wrapped himself over her, shielding the mage as various objects tossed around in the cabin. In response, she clung to him, fingers curled into his robes and head hidden into his shoulder. Lightning flashed through the cracks of the doorway and thunder rattled the ship's loose boards, but they wouldn't be sinking anytime soon.

Myrah peeked up from the sanctuary of his chest to see Carver was towering over her, one firm hand on the door and the other snaked securely around her waist. She felt her robes catch on the door as the young Hawke took a single step closer, pushing her softly into the door. Carver's face colored as Myrah's ample bust pressed wonderfully into his chest, sending a flutter of butterflies to his stomach and a rush to other parts than his reddening cheeks. "I- I'm sorry," the Warden worried, as the heat of her body flush to his became overwhelming and he began to untangle himself from her.

However, his fellow Warden had other plans.

The elf yanked and stretched Carver's collar as she brought him down a size, planting her bold beautiful lips over his mouth, smothering what would have been a gasp in surprise. Blindsided, the warden followed through the motions as Myrah then reversed the roles, throwing Carver into the splintering door and continuing to push her lovely bosoms against him. He could only stand there, unsure whether to beg for mercy or kiss her back. At last she parted her lush lips from his, breathing heavily against his chin with a toothy smirk. "I'm not sorry?" Carver hastily quipped, unsure and bewitched by Myrah's promising smug smile.

"Tell me Carver," she spoke with a sultry air, keeping him placed against the door. "Just how far did you and Merrill go?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I should be working on finishing my other story, but I just can't put the epilogue into words. It will come sooner than later though. So enjoy, and I may be doing more of these k!meme fills in the future.**

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"Wha- what?" Carver stammered helplessly, surprised, his palms flat against the hard door as the elven temptress pressed into him, lips kissing delicately along the curve of his jaw.

He felt her grin against his cheek as she slid her slender nimble fingers through the buckles on his robe, cold fingertips brushing his skin as they came undone. Myrah breathed hotly against his neck, sucking and nibbling, distracting the deputy Warden as she squeezed his hips. Carver couldn't hold back and moaned, throat vibrating against her fervent kisses.

The last of the silver buckles was undone, and Myrah hastily peeled the robe down his sinewy arms, marveling at his taut pallid skin. She bit her lip, curiously tracing the white scars across Carver's trembling chest with light fingers. "Ostagar?" she whispered, caresses moving further down his chest. Carver nodded, inhaling sharply, heart racing and skin crawling wonderfully as Myrah skimmed her nails about his navel, going lower still.

She was on her toes again, as balanced as an Orlesian dancer. Carver felt her warm kiss, gentle and chaste, his lips at last moving against hers. Myrah smiled against his mouth, kissing down his chin, his neck, collar bone. He groaned when he felt her tongue, hot and wet, pressed against his muscles, stroking an unexpected nipple. Carver threw his head back, cracking it against the wooden door, catching his breath as Myrah's lips moved along his strong stomach.

Carver was without words, breathing heavy now, and Myrah was pulling at the lace of his pants.

Lusty eyes beamed up at him, sparkling in what was left of the firelight, crafty fingers leaving his trousers partially undone. The strain in his pants coming to an end at last. Carver held his breath, waiting, but his fellow Warden was testing him. Myrah stroked his hot length through his pants, smirked up at him. "Ooh," she coed as his hips jerked towards her. She giggled, cupping his hard erection, squeezing and probing as Carver writhed about. "Someone's at the door," she whispered.

"Wait- what?" But before the poor little Hawke could react, he felt the cold windy air of the cabin against his throbbing skin, followed by the frail taunt of thick lips against his head. Carver thrashed is skull against the door again, struggling to keep his eyes open as he watched Myrah, her lush mouth touching his quivering cock. First she kissed him, just enough that his hips would move again, aching for more, just as the skin of her lips barely brushed the length of his shaft. She smiled, deviously, as if waiting.

Then a knock came to the door. "Carver you alright in there?"

Myrah suddenly licked him, that flushed wonderful tongue flat against the underside of his manhood. Carver's elbow twitched from the surprise, knocking back on the door. "Carver?" came again at the door, and this time he recognized it as no other than Nathaniel Howe. The young Warden was biting his tongue, suppressing a spine-tingling moan as Myrah continued to tease his aching flesh, watching him. "Carver, I know you're in there-"

"I- I'm fine!" Carver quickly responded, voice wavering as Myrah stroked him with her tongue, fingers tickling his length.

"Are you sure? I heard a lot of banging," Nathaniel answered through the door, suspicion weighing heavily on his voice.

Carver couldn't hold back, a begrudging moan came out as the elf sucked on his tip, fingers now curled and moving in rhythm. She sinks onto him, swallowing, swirling her tongue about, using that deceiving mouth to make the Warden moan into his hand. Trying his best to hide their deed from their captain. "I- I fell from bed," Carver struggled to word, voice heavy and breathy. "Hit my head," he continued, biting his cheek as Myrah smiled with his flesh still between her lips.

"Alright," Nathaniel still spoke with uncertainty. "Well, everyone has eaten and cleaned up, if you want anything Myrah said she would cook you some supper."

Myrah hummed, voice trembling through his skin. The Warden was struggling to stay footed, knees shaking, hands covering his mouth as she pressed her teeth along his head. "O- Okay!" he groaned.

The temptation to come was embarrassing, made worst by the Warden-Captain's presence only an arm's length away, and Carver had already drawn blood from biting through his lip. With the little restraint he had left, he forced Myrah to her feet, her warm mouth leaving with a subtle 'pop' as he pressed her into the wall, listening. Through the rain and the ship's creaking, Nathaniel's wandering footsteps began to draw faint as he left, unsure still of Carver's peculiar behavior.

He was ashamed, uncomfortable as the cold ocean air stung his bare skin, yet he ached for more. For Myrah.

"I wasn't done," she whispered soft enough for him to hear, her deft fingers outlining the muscle lines in his chest, gently fingering towards his hard cock.

Carver's fingers curled into a fist against the wall, nails scrapping along the splintering wood, silenced by the mage's bewitching touch. Cursing under hot breath, the Warden snatched Myrah's wandering hand from eliciting further torture, bracing it above her head. She gasped, eyes wide, as the warrior reached to trap her other hand above her head as well. "Myrah," he breathed, ready to send her away, relieve himself with his own provocative fantasies. But her breathing was heavy and freckled cheeks rosy, Carver was leaning towards her without even thinking.

"Enough of your teasing." Myrah's lingering smirk cracked and her wide gaze swung away from Carver, trying to mask her quivering lip. That's not what he wanted.

Sliding her arms down carefully down to her hips, Carver leaned into her, feeling her hot gasp against his neck. He brushed the length of her arms with his palms, he wanted to feel her skin, to see if her freckles extended elsewhere, to know if an elf's ear were truly as sensitive as Isabela's novels. The Warden inhaled sharply, "Can I touch you?" He held his hands above the buckle of her robe, just close enough to her wonderfully ample chest.

"Carver," she whispered with a smug smile, "don't ask."

This time as her lips slipped against his, hard and demanding, Carver met her just as passionately. Pushing Myrah's lithe body firmly against him, he felt the soft curves of her body against his, aching to have her naked and writhing beneath him. He parted at her behest, parched for air, staring lustily back at him. "What do you want me to do next, Ser Carver?"


End file.
